


Watery Grave

by Lertsek



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Character Death, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mermaids, NCT Ensemble - Freeform, Sad Ending, Theme Day: Mythical Monsters, WayV Ensemble - Freeform, unbeta'd and unafraid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-17 06:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lertsek/pseuds/Lertsek
Summary: Yangyang’s brother is dying, so really, the mermaid with the sharp smile that he meets on the way to find the source of eternal life is the least of his problems.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Liu Yang Yang/Na Jaemin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 85
Collections: NCT Spookfest 2019





	Watery Grave

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween. Read the tags.

Water and salt. Two things that have settled into Yangyang's life and are not going away anytime soon. He has made his acquaintance with tears, would consider them his friends going by the many times he has seen them appear over the past few months. 

First on his brother’s face, when he told Yangyang he was sick. And then on his own, from the anger of Kun not telling him, from confusion, from fear. 

Yangyang grew up with water for blood. Kun encouraged it, took him to the docks as often as he could. Told the seamen his little brother could hold his own. And Yangyang was everything if not ready to prove that he could. To Kun, to the older fishermen, to himself. 

He learned how to wheel in a fish at seven, when he didn’t even have the strength for it. At ten he was coming along for the morning catch, earning his payment in the form of fish. Johnny, his mentor, always let him pick the best one when they docked in the afternoon to take home to Kun—and most of the time also Ten, although he only moved in officially when Yangyang turned fourteen. 

Fifteen was the year Yangyang got his own boat. A tiny no brand thing that for him was the definition of the word perfect. Johnny’s husband Jaehyun had driven a good bargain for it with the widow of an old fisherman. Kun and Johnny had spent days waxing the wood and scrubbing the bottom clean. Ten stepping in with the varnish once everything was set and done. 

Yangyang cried the moment he laid eyes on the boat. His boat. Smiling through his tears when he saw the little red bow made out of tablecloth that Jaehyun had added as an afterthought.

Whereas Yangyang always let his tears slip out freely, Ten didn't cry. He didn't cry when Kun told him something was wrong, didn't cry when they got the doctor to check, and another, and another one. He didn't cry when they had to sell his art supplies to afford a fourth to come and hopefully, finally, tell them what was wrong with Kun. Ten didn't cry when the fifth one said there was something wrong with Kun's lungs, an unnamed disease that doesn't have a cure. An unnamed disease that was spreading over to Kun's lymph nodes, that would probably spread to other organs, maybe bones, probably not the brain because Kun wouldn't live that long.

Ten didn't cry, at least not in front of others. But Yangyang walked in on him one night sitting on the couch with dampened cheeks, staring at the already put out fireplace.

The next morning Yangyang dragged his boat from the docks up to the house, said that they were going to sell it for something that would make his brother better. Ten dragged it right back.

They celebrated Yangyang's nineteenth birthday on the living room couch which by then had been turned into Kun's bed. He was supposed to be dead three months ago, but then again, the Qian family had always been a tough one. When Yangyang was leaning over the birthday cake, he didn't wish for a safe trip on calm waters, he wished for Kun to live long enough to see him turn twenty. He had to blow a second time for the candle to go out.

* * *

The compass has been dead for what Yangyang presumes to be about a full day. He's been sailing for forty more. Stopped at a port on the way to spend most of the money that Yuta had pressed into his hand before he set off. It was the last port before there was nothing but ocean in every direction. 

Ocean with water that smells like salt and tastes like it too. Ocean with a sound that Yangyang is slowly adapting to hearing every second of every day, a sound that even chases him while asleep. Ocean that can be divided into two parts—and probably more, there is so much in these depths that is still unknown—the part where the compass works, and the part where it doesn’t. 

Twenty-four hours ago Yangyang crossed over from life as a living man to a man whose death warrant has already been signed. It’s his own signature at the bottom of the document. Neat and curvy and proclaiming himself mad. Not mad with want, like most men who search for eternal life. But mad with hope, and really, hope is the only thing he has left, you can’t call him insane for clinging on to it. 

* * *

It was surprisingly Johnny and Jaehyun’s surrogate that re-sparked the hope Ten and Yangyang desperately tried to convince themselves they hadn’t lost. She was three months pregnant and had heard of a place with a well so deep you had to hoist the bucket until you felt like your arms would fall off. But it would be worth it, because in the bucket would be water that could make any person live until the end of the earth. 

It was stupid, a fool’s story, one of many that the country knew. But Yangyang saw the look Ten held in his eyes when the words left Yuta’s lips. He recognized it. It was a look of hope, and he was wearing the exact same one. 

Fishermen are undeniably easy to talk to when you buy them a drink, even more so when you buy them a few. Ale wetted their beards as they drank and talked about a place located west. 

“How far west?” Yangyang would ask. 

“Until you can’t go further and then a bit more.” 

With Kun upstairs, Ten and Yangyang would gather in the living room, comparing notes in hushed whispers. There are always many versions of a story, and there is always a thread that ties all the variants together. 

They were certain about the direction being west. And so they started to plan. The boat could hold two if they sat down strategically. It definitely needed a new sail, and there needed to be enough food to feed both of them. 

Yangyang didn’t want Ten to come. He wanted Ten here with Kun, so his brother wouldn’t have to face everything alone. Especially since it was gradually getting worse—they’d have to move him downstairs soon, seeing how stairs were becoming more and more of an obstacle.

Johnny solved the problem by walking in on them one evening while they were calculating how much water they needed to bring. He shook his head when he looked at the makeshift sea route they had sketched, still holding the stew Jaehyun had ordered him to deliver. 

“There’s a port northwest of here, about fifteen days away,” he’d said and turned to address Yangyang. “We’re going to stop there first before we turn fully west.” 

* * *

Loneliness is something Yangyang thought he knew. Turns out alone and lonely are two different words. Alone is used for the time slot between sailing out with the rest of the seamen and docking with them hours later. Alone is used for sleepless nights listening to the orchestra of Kun coughing. Alone is used for short bursts of time. Lonely is used for the feeling that sets in when you have been sailing on depthless waters with nothing but your own company for thirty days, or thirty-one, maybe thirty-three, at this point Yangyang has lost count, the days blurring together. 

The last human contact he had was at one of the taverns situated in the port city Johnny had pointed out. The boy had black hair and a laugh that bore through the poshness he radiated and left Yangyang floored. It was a boy Kun would have approved of, had Yangyang ever taken him home for an introduction. Hendery’s friend reminded Yangyang of Ten a little in the way he moved. But the mop of blonde hair on his head made it hard to associate one with the other. The longing between Hendery and his friend, Xiaojun, was clear as day, so Yangyang buried the attraction in his mind by buying them both another round. 

He felt guilty, the morning after he woke up on a strange couch that slept like a rock. Guilty towards Yuta for spending some of the money on alcohol instead of supplies. Guilty towards Kun because he had wasted an evening and a morning when time was of the essence. Guilty towards Ten because he was counting on him. And guilty towards Johnny, because Yangyang knew Johnny would’ve done a better job had Yangyang given him the opportunity. 

Besides the guilt though, there was a feeling of happiness. Xiaojun and Hendery raided all their cupboards for canned goods and gave him everything that was edible, even helping Yangyang up his water supply. They refused to let him sail that evening, when all was packed and ready to go. Yangyang tried to explain that he couldn’t waste even a minute. Instead of listening, Xiaojun sat him down and made him eat Hendery’s cooking. 

They saw him off the next morning. Stood there on the docks waving until Yangyang disappeared from sight. Besides the guilt Yangyang felt, there was a little spot of happiness blooming in his heart. This is what it felt like to spend time with people your own age. This is what it would feel like having friends. 

* * *

While Yuta’s belly swole by the day, Johnny recrafted the plan from which he probably wouldn’t return to raise his son. 

A son who’s future name was by this time a well-worn argument. Jaehyun liked Jisung, said triple J’s would sound like a band. But ever since Ten had coined the name Mark, Johnny hadn’t been able to let it go. In the end, it probably would come down to something else entirely, knowing how the two of them would rather settle on something they both liked. 

Johnny tried to figure out the sea routes while Ten sent notice to an old friend of his that he’d met when the boy had passed through the village years ago. He’d stayed in the local tavern while Ten was on his shift behind the bar that evening. They’d hit it off immediately, Lucas’s boisterous laugh still ringing against the wooden walls even after he departed. 

Lucas arrives in a fortnight, his loyal horse under him, sword in his holster. Kun welcomes him with open arms into their house, in the next breath he sends Yangyang to fetch Johnny, Jaehyun, and Yuta. They’re having a feast tonight. 

With full bellies on the couch and alcohol in their veins, Ten kisses Kun to bed and grabs one of the pencils they didn’t sell to sketch out the map Lucas draws with words. 

Every hour counts, so they draw lines upon lines upon lines of different routes made up on the spot. If they stay closer to land they can arrive at the port in thirteen days instead of fifteen, shaving off two. They can skip the port altogether, immediately going west from the docks of their own village. But the waters are rougher here, and there’s a chance you end up going south instead of west. 

“You don’t wanna take the risk,” Lucas says. “If you get thrown onto the southern track it will take you at least a month to find your way back.” 

Johnny nods. “The south is rough, there’s a reason the southerners know how to conquer land and not the waves.” 

“After the port, then what?” Jaehyun asks. 

“All sails west I suppose,” Yuta says.

Everyone around the table nods, looking at the map placed before them. The village and the port are marked with crosses, multiple lines drawn between the two points but one thicker than all others, almost pressing through the paper. To the right of the map, there is a faint sketch Ten did of the country. To the left, there is nothing. You could fill in the blank space as water, but really, no one knows. On official maps it gets labeled as _ocean,_ with a rushed whisper after to avoid going too far. 

Over the years, tons of treasure seekers have been lost, lest to speak of supply ships. Supply ships that accidentally strayed from their route and got thrown onto wrong waters unwillingly. When the waves are hungry, they will lure you in and there is nothing you can do about. After all, the ocean too, needs to get fed. 

Jaehyun is picking at the skin around his fingernails. He shoots an anxious look at Johnny before asking, “How far west?” 

Ten and Yangyang exchange a glance. Ten repeats one of the phrases he has heard the drunken seamen throw out. “You sail until there is no water to sail on anymore.” 

The look in Jaehyun’s eyes makes Yangyang’s stomach drop. The pit drops even further when Jaehyung’s eyes switch from scared to resign. 

Johnny and Jaehyun have probably already fought about it. About Johnny going. About the possibility of him not coming back. Yangyang’s eyes flicker to Yuta’s belly. Six months and going. The point of it being perceived as just weight gain by the outside world has been crossed. 

Jaehyun is yielding. Yielding to being widowed before their child is born. 

There is a decision Yangyang makes then, at that moment. He looks up from Yuta’s belly into her eyes. They’re kind and knowing. She nods. An agreement. 

She turns to address Lucas, “Do you want to feel him kick?” 

Lucas’s delight is instant and vocal. He lightens the mood in the room by running over and softly placing his hand on Yuta’s stomach, like he is touching something that is not quite real. 

“What are you naming him?” Lucas asks with wonder in his eyes. Ten’s groan can be heard from across the room. 

“Well,” Johnny starts, “I think Mark—” 

“Probably Jisung, you know, triple J’s.” 

Yuta raises her voice to be heard above the commotion that one single question has brought on. “Do you have any ideas, Lucas?” 

Lucas takes a second to think it over before saying, “I’ve always liked the name Hyuck.” There is no instant rebuttal from Johnny or Jaehyun. Yangyang thinks it must be a miracle. Lucas’s face falls into a smile. “Or you could always name it Xuxi!” 

Ten can see the possibility taking shape in Jaehyun’s head and cuts in before it’s too late, “They’re not naming their child after your goddamn sword Lucas.” 

* * *

It’s evening, the next time Yangyang wakes up. He is hungry, which is not new. The food is scarce and getting scarcer. Yangyang has worked his way through most of the canned goods Xiaojun and Hendery threw into the boat with him. Three more days, probably, until he has to start on the reserve supply. And that is only if he downsizes his portions by half again. 

His body feels weak, his brain is foggy. His clothing is damp. That’s new. 

Over the days, weeks, months that he has been here the sky has always been dry. It feels like a year since he has seen rain. Felt it. He holds his hands out, palms up, and lets the drops fall onto them. He sticks his tongue out for good measure, turns his head skywards and lets the rain wash over him. It looks like an offering, feels like it too. Until the thunder strikes. 

Yangyang is shocked out of his stupor. He sees another flash when he opens his eyes, in his head, he counts the seconds. He gets to five until he hears the boisterous sound again. Five seconds means five meters. Five seconds means too close. 

He wants to scramble around but there is nowhere to turn to. The ocean is around him, mocking him for not being able to leave. The waves have gathered intensity and are licking at the wood. Their tongues dipping ever so slightly into the boat. 

Yangyang finds his compass—Lucas’s compass—in his pocket and takes it out. It’s still stuck like an anchor in sand. He pockets it again. Holds it. He will let it be his mainstay. 

Another flash. Not even three seconds. The waves are spilling into the boat. He tries to kick them out, makes a cup with his hands before thinking better of it and using the empty cans strewn about. 

The rain doesn’t feel good anymore, the clothes sticking to his damp skin only adding to the pressure. To the fear. He is alone. 

The boat keeps on filling. One man alone can’t get it out. He doesn’t want to sink. Doesn’t want to drown. He is alone. 

A wave throws his boat from side to side. It barely stays upright. Another flash, a one second count. Another wave, Yangyang goes under. 

The water is cold, cold, cold. He tries to reach for above, reach for the surface but there is no way to know which way is up. He breaks the water and sucks in a breath, legs kicking desperately like the first time Kun let go of him when he felt Yangyang was ready to try staying afloat on his own. 

The staking panic in his veins is even colder than the waves. Yangyang can’t see his boat. He goes under again. 

There is salt in his eyes and it burns. He opens his mouth to scream for help and realizes his mistake. He can’t even get out a name before water enters his throat. His body is being pushed around and around, further and further down. He can’t breathe. He is alone. 

There is no time to think about regret, no time to make a prayer, no time to apologize. Yangyang was born with water for blood and now he will be buried under it, with it, beside it, in it. 

While he drifts in and out of consciousness, he can see a face appear and disappear. He knows it’s not Kun, the complexions don’t look right, this face doesn’t have the stark crows feet, the wrinkles in the forehead, the constant look of sickness. This face looks young. Still, Yangyang closes his eyes and lets more water spill into his mouth when he says, “Brother.” 

* * *

Ten and Lucas hug at the doorpost. 

“Give him my regards,” Ten whispers into Lucas’s chest, just loud enough for Yangyang to hear. 

Lucas pats him on the back, twice. “Write more often, would ya.” 

Ten laughs, something which these days has become almost as rare as his tears. “I will,” he promises with determination. 

Lucas laughs with him. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

They go in for another hug. Lucas’s grin is so big, it almost engulfs his entire body. Yangyang misses his presence already. 

Lucas has already said his goodbyes to Kun. Thanked him for welcoming him with open arms. Told him that he will return the favor one day when they come and visit him. 

Ten had scoffed and murmured under his breath, _as if you will ever settle down._ Lucas had responded that it would just have to be a road meal, around the campfire, like the good old days. 

“Yin,” Lucas calls when he turns around after having crossed the doorstep. “Walk me to my horse.” 

Lucas calls him Yin, because apparently Yangyang’s name reminds him of cosmic duality. He picked Yin and not Yang because he thought it was funny. And it is, because it’s Lucas. Kun has already started teasing him for it, calling him Yin when in conversation with Ten where he knows Yangyang will overhear. 

Yangyang trots after him, trying to match Lucas’s big steps. He turns around to wave back at Kun and Ten in the door opening. 

Lucas unties his horse from the front porch and urges her a couple of steps further from the house, out of earshot. Yangyang places his hand on the horse’s nose. He smiles when she doesn’t back away. 

There is a soft laugh from behind him. “She was like that with Jungwoo too.” Lucas comes to stand on the other side of the horse. He scratches her behind her ear and Yangyang swears he can see her lean in. “Took an instant liking to him.” 

Yangyang looks up at Lucas, debating in his mind if he should ask about Jungwoo. _Give him my regards,_ Ten had said. The dots were easy to connect. 

While Lucas shifts so that Yangyang’s view from the front door is blocked, his demeanor changes. The easy smile is gone. He hasn’t become hostile or cold, just serious. Yangyang unconsciously squares his shoulders. 

“Jungwoo used to own a ship,” Lucas starts. “He sailed it west, and the entire time he had a bad feeling in his gut.” 

Yangyang shifts on his feet. “How far did he go?” 

“Far enough.” 

Lucas nods to one of the side pockets in the bag slung over the saddle. Yangyang reaches for it without further prompting. From the pocket he withdraws a round-shaped item. The sunlight reflects off the gold of the compass. The small ring that is usually at the top is gone. Yangyang clicks it open and sees the needle pointing north. It’s beautiful in its simplicity. 

“Once you cross the border it will stop working, that’s when you’ll know.” 

“Know that I’m on the right track?” Yangyang asks, still looking at the red part of the needle. 

“That you have entered the point of no return,” Lucas corrects. 

Yangyang’s head shoots up, he closes the compass. It feels nice in his hand, his fingers being able to close over it just so. 

“Amidst the waves there is an island. Do not dock.” Lucas looks him square in the eye. “If you hear singing or voices asking you for help, plug your ears. If the waves tear down your mast, start paddling. If your paddles break, use your bare hands. Do not dock.” 

Yangyang frowns, his imagination running wild. “What’s on the island?” 

“Not what you’re looking for.” Is Lucas’s curt response. Yangyang gears up to ask another question. Lucas sighs. “Jungwoo got stuck on it. He told me it will feel like paradise. Looks like it too. But in the back of your head there will always be this nagging thought, this doubt, this feeling that something isn’t right. You do not stop on the island. If you stop you will want to stay. This is how half of the men go.” 

_Jungwoo used to own a ship._ Past tense. Yangyang glances past Lucas’s frame to the house. Ten stands in the door opening, pretending he isn’t interested in a conversation he can’t hear. He turns around and goes back inside. 

“Does Ten know?” 

Lucas shakes his head. “He wouldn’t have asked me to come here to advise you if he did.” 

Lucas pats the hand in which Yangyang is still holding the compass. His grip had tightened unknowingly. 

“I can’t tell you what to look for,” Lucas says, swinging himself onto the horse’s back without any problem. It looks like he has done it a million times. Which is true, and he will do it a million more. He takes the reigns in his hands and turns his horse around. Yangyang follows him, not wanting to be left behind in the horse’s kicking diameter. “Everyone has different stories. Some say it’s a fountain, others say a plant, there are people who think the key to eternal life is a piece of jewelry. The only thing I can tell you is that you probably won’t make it out alive, but you already know that. Or at least, you think you do.” 

Lucas shifts in his saddle. His grip on the reins tightens. 

“Say your goodbyes before you leave. You don’t want to regret not having done that.” He offers Yangyang a last smile. “Goodluck Yin.”

Before he can set off, Yangyang calls Lucas’s name, there is one last question that has been burning in the back of his mind. 

“Did he go alone?” Yangyang asks. “Jungwoo, I mean. Did he sail alone?”

“No,” Lucas says. “But he returned alone.” 

* * *

For the first time in weeks, Yangyang’s body feels healthy. It’s like a weight has been lifted off of him, he feels like he’s floating. The sky is back to its stark blue color, now feeling even more rich. The hot sand under him is hot against his skin. The only thing that doesn’t fit in this perfect picture is his clothing. It’s torn to pieces, much like how he should be. 

Yangyang lets his head fall back into the sand. There are no waves pushing him down, no water stuck in his lungs. He sucks in a breath. Holds it. Pushes it out. Does it again. 

His hunger has dissipated along with his fear. Maybe fear can fulfill your appetite. Yangyang laughs to himself. Sure, he’ll take that reasoning. 

His mouth isn’t dry. His cracked lips are the only thing comparable to how he has been waking up every single morning in that boat.

This sand feels much nicer than the rotten wood. He wants to sink into it further, let himself be engulfed. As if on instinct he reaches for his pocket. 

His body shoots up with his brain following seconds behind. The compass isn’t there. He pats himself down again. Hurriedly gets on his knees and starts sweeping through the sand. 

The reality of it all comes crashing down on him. What is he doing here. Where even is here. The sand is everywhere around him. Beyond the sand to his left, miles of ocean, to his right, trees. Yangyang stumbles to his feet. He doesn’t know which way to turn to.

He dusts some of the sand off his skin, shakes out his hair. It doesn’t feel right. Too perfect. 

The temptation to lay back down and sink into the sand is there, but it vanishes completely from his mind when he sees the boat. Or at least what’s left of it. 

He runs, notices one shoe is missing and doesn’t care. He sprints his way down the beach until he is face to face with the wreckage that was his old sailboat. 

The wood is smashed, the pole holding the sail is hanging at an odd angle, ready to break. Yangyang remembers how long they saved up to buy him this present. Can only imagine how much work went into it to make it look presentable. He remembers the red bow. 

There is salt on his cheeks slipping closer to his mouth. This time it’s not from the ocean. Or maybe it is. 

“Do you really need to use this to get a sense of direction?” 

Yangyang jumps back in shock. It came from his left. Has the water gained a voice now? Did he hit his head too hard when he almost drowned? 

“I think it’s considered rude to ignore people who saved your life, don’t you?” 

Yangyang slowly turns to the sea. The freight on his face melts into adoration. 

Before him is the most beautiful boy he has ever seen. His hair is a faded pink. Matching the blush on Yangyang’s cheeks. 

The boy has his head resting on his hands, elbows stuck into the sand for stabilization. His legs are— 

Not there. Instead there are scales. Green scales that reflect a slight purple when Yangyang moves his head. Instead of legs the boy has a tail. Yangyang thinks his near-death experience must have triggered some kind of imagination breach. But even then, he can’t have made this up. 

The tail lifts up out of the water and for a second Yangyang can see the reflection of the sunlight on it. It shimmers more beautifully than Lucas’s compass did. Yangyang wants to sink to his knees, and this time not out of desperation, but admiration. Then the tail slams down onto the water and disappears under it again, becoming slightly blurry. 

Yangyang’s mind registers a snort. “Don’t stare, you’re making me feel self conscious.” 

“You can stare at my legs too if you want,” Yangyang says, and takes a small step closer, eyes still lingering on the blurry outline of the shimmering scales. 

The boy laughs. Which is also pretty. Pretty unfair. 

“I’d come closer and shake your hand—that’s a human etiquette isn’t it—but,” the boy says, moving his tail to accentuate his point. 

Yangyang takes the initiative, drawing closer with his hand outstretched. 

The boy’s hands are soft. Yangyang returns the grip firmly, something Johnny taught him. 

“Yangyang,” he says. And because Kun raised him well, “Nice to meet you.” 

The boy laughs again, pearly white teeth and all. “Jaemin,” he says before giving a slight squeeze and taking his hand back to place it under his chin again. 

“I think this is yours.” Jaemin nods to the compass laying in front of him. A couple of steps further and Yangyang would have stepped on it. 

“Yes,” Yangyang confirms unnecessarily. “It’s mine.” He picks it up out of the water and dries it on his pants, dusting the wet sand off of it. The weight is familiar in his hand. 

“That’s funny,” Jaemin says. 

“What is?” 

“I didn’t know you spelled Yangyang with a J.” 

He’s talking about the initials. The clean KJ sharpened into the inside of the golden case. It’s the only thing that makes the compass seem imperfect. The compass which, after Yangyang clicks it open, has stopped spinning and is now pointing north again. 

* * *

Yangyang hadn’t expected it at first glance, but Jaemin is funny. He talks about his tail like it’s an accident, something that just one day attached itself to his body. Jaemin’s nonchalance makes him even more attractive, which at this point is just incredibly unfair. Yangyang knows Jaemin knows he’s handsome. He’s caught Yangyang staring at his exposed chest one too many times. To his credit, he doesn’t boast about it, instead he blushes, which just makes Yangyang want to kiss his cheeks. 

Jaemin talks to him about his best friend Jeno, and how he is a complete idiot with a heart that is too kind. Yangyang would like him, he is sure. 

Yangyang doesn’t want to present himself as lonely to Jaemin, so he tells him about Xiaojun and Hendery. 

He would tell Jaemin about his friends back home, but there are none to tell about. 

So instead he talks about his family. Being raised by one brother, and being carried through his adolescence by three more. 

Yangyang tells Jaemin about Jaehyun’s kindness, Johnny’s courage. He tells Jaemin about Ten’s undeniable ability to be himself. How Yangyang admires that on the good days, envies it on the bad ones. He tells Jaemin about Kun’s patience. His kind eyes. His heart of gold. A tear slips out and Jaemin doesn’t judge him for it.

“He’d walk over burning coals for me,” Yangyang says, before jumping into a story about the day he discovered that Ten did a little more than only still life drawings of fruit. 

He misses Jaemin whispering, _and you would for him._

When Yangyang tells him the strongest person in his life is a woman who, while pregnant, can still take half the village in a fight—sword and bare hand—Jaemin says he knows a person like that. 

And that’s how Yangyang is introduced to Renjun. A kid who is vicious with a trident. At one point getting lessons from Taeil himself, the mermaid who led the war against the nökken twenty years ago and won. By a large margin.

He learns the name Chenle, someone who is known to ride dolphins and has an entire betting pool running on it. The lead runner of the pool right now is a mermaid going by the disguised name of Winwin, but it is rumored that Taeil wants to give it a shot soon, and you don’t bet against Taeil. 

Jaemin describes the depths of the oceans and what hides underneath, being careful not to stray too far into the darker side but being honest nonetheless when Yangyang asks questions. 

At one point the question is asked. 

“Why did you sail all the way out here?” 

Yangyang looks Jaemin square in the eye when he says, “I’m searching for eternal life.” 

He catches it, the flinch in Jaemin’s eyes. A slight hint of disappointment. No, not disappointment, but sorrow. 

“For your brother,” Jaemin states. 

“For my brother,” Yangyang confirms. 

* * *

Yuta is running behind him. Her stomach is about ready to burst and Yangyang doesn’t understand how she can keep up with him in this state. He feels bad, he feels guilty, but he has shoved those thoughts away for later. He is going to have enough time to think when he is alone on the ocean. 

They’re pushing the boat into the water. She’s heavy but manageable because there’s two of them. Yangyang still can’t believe Yuta is here at his side. She’s grunting, one hand placed on her belly. Yangyang puts his back into it and pushes harder. 

In his mind he goes over the inventory, like he has been doing for days. There is not much he is taking, he finds out every time he gets to the bottom of the list. 

His hand goes to his pocket for the final item. He freezes. Yuta can see him visibly tense. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks in a hushed whisper.

“Fuck,” Yangyang swears. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He turns back into the direction of the house, dragging his legs back through the water onto the dock. 

“Yangyang, what are you doing?” 

“I forgot something,” he says, “five minutes, give me five minutes.” He runs. 

He knew it was stupid to take the compass out last night. But it had felt so right as he put it under his pillow. Even for the short few hours that he got to sleep, his brain had been silent. 

He runs back to the house and enters through the backdoor with his wet shoes. He streaks water over the wooden floor but he doesn’t care. Upstairs he maneuvers himself around the dark corridor, guiding himself with his hands on the wall. 

Pillow up and there it is, right where he had left it. He pockets it. Reaches his hand in again to make sure that it’s really there. He can’t afford to make another run. The sun is going to come up in a few hours and he has to be on a steady way north before that happens. Just in case Johnny decides to come after him. Yuta will try and stop him, talk sense into him. Say that he has a baby coming and that he should be here for it. 

But Johnny isn’t the only one he is scared of coming after him. The real threat is laying on the living room couch, arm thrown over his eyes and snoring. 

When Kun wakes up and reads the half-assed letter Yangyang left for him on the kitchen table, all hell is sure to break loose.

Yangyang can see him getting onto the first boat he sees, even though he does not know how to steer it. He’ll find someone and make them do it for him. Because his little kid brother is sailing himself straight into an early grave and even though Kun is months over his calculated death time, he will get Yangyang home. 

In his letter, Yangyang had tried to explain why he had chosen to do it alone. He wasn’t going to take Johnny away from his soon to be born family. He wasn’t going to take Ten away from Kun and leave his brother to rot away on a couch alone. 

He had also tried to write down why he was doing it in the first place. But when it came down to it, there were no words for that. Kun was his brother and that was that. When it came down to it, Kun would have done the same thing for him if the roles would have been reversed. 

What Kun also would have done is promised Yangyang he’d come back. So Yangyang leans down over Kun’s sleeping form, his wet pants dripping on the carpet, and kisses Kun’s forehead before he whispers a promise he can’t keep. 

“I love you,” he says, sliding out the backdoor and running through the village to get to the docks where Yuta is still holding the boat in place. “See you soon,” he hopes. 

* * *

The compass points north but Jaemin confirms Yangyang’s thoughts. Thoughts pulled from the mouths of drunken seamen. _You sail west until you can’t sail anymore. And then a bit further._

Jaemin helps him rebuild his boat, hunting down seaweed on the bottom of the ocean that when cooked can be turned into glue. He swims fast, faster than Yangyang would have expected. It is a sight to see him move in his element. 

The post is a lost cause. They use the wood from it to repair the worst leaks in the boat. Yangyang is going to have to row so he makes small loops on top of both sides of the boat, big enough for a wooden stick to fit through. 

The work is exhausting, but he doesn’t tire. Everyday Yangyang wakes up re-energized and ready to go. He can’t remember the last time he was hungry, or thirsty. He drinks water out of habit, hasn’t had a meal in days. It’s not necessary. 

There is a thought that lingers in his head. The leaves on the trees are too green, the sand is too white, sometimes at night Yangyang can feel himself sink. At least the company is good. 

Jaemin likes to sing while he watches Yangyang apply glue or carve the paddles. His voice is as beautiful as himself, maybe even slightly more so. Yangyang hears it in his dreams, his lips mouthing along the words while he sleeps. 

At night he remembers the days at home. The days when Kun was still healthy. 

The weirdest thing of it all is that he doesn’t only see the images in his mind, he speaks about them as well. Jaemin is a good listener. He sympathizes easily and gives his opinion when it’s appreciated. He knows when to let Yangyang talk and when to interrupt. 

In a short amount of time, they grow close. Yangyang’s favorite time of the day is at night, when the dark has fallen over the sky like a blanket. The time when he lays with his body in the sand, hair being touched by water every couple of seconds when the tide draws in. The time when besides the waves, Jaemin’s voice is the only noise in the entire universe. 

When the boat is done and the paddles are carved, they go for a celebratory swim. 

Yangyang hasn’t threaded this deep into the water since the boy before him dragged him out of it. 

It’s the first time Yangyang is seeing Jaemin up close. Jaemin lets him touch his tail, even giggles at Yangyang’s amazement. He himself cards a hand through Yangyang’s hair, pulling at the knots. 

They swim and Yangyang isn’t afraid. He really lets himself enjoy for the first time in weeks, months, years. It feels like when he got to ride along on Johnny’s boat for the first time. 

Water and salt are around him and Yangyang embraces it. He laughs open heartedly when Jaemin makes fun of his legs and how hard he has to kick to stay above water. 

He watches Jaemin swim in all his grace and smiles at him underwater. When can’t wait to tell Kun about this place when he gets back home.

At night, Yangyang dreams of home, of the days when Kun was still healthy. But he also dreams of dark brown eyes and green scales reflecting in sunlight. 

Hope is the only thing Yangyang has left, you can’t blame him for clinging on to it. 

* * *

The next morning Jaemin is angry at him. Yangyang sees for the first time the danger that lies beneath the surface of Jaemin’s beautiful skin. His teeth look a bit sharper, his nails a little longer. 

“Why?” Jaemin asks again. It’s the third time he’s asked that question. 

And so Yangyang responds for the third time. “Because I have to.” 

Kun is his brother. Blood is blood. He would do the same for Yangyang. 

“You don’t even know what you’re looking for,” Jaemin says. It’s one of his lesser arguments. 

Yangyang sighs. “I’ll know it when I see it.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“If you have something to say you can just spit it out.” 

The next argument on Jaemin’s tongue halts and he slams his mouth shut. His brows furrow, he looks out to the sea. 

“Isn’t this enough? Can’t you just be happy here?” The _with me_ is not spoken but still implied. 

“Not right now. Not while my brother is dying when I could save him.” Yangyang puts his hands against the boat. “Now get over here and help me get this thing into the water.” 

Jaemin hisses something unclear before muttering under his breath just loud enough for Yangyang still to hear, “Fucking humans and their overconfidence.” He drags himself over with his hands and doesn’t look at Yangyang as he pulls from his side of the water. 

Even while being bitter, Jaemin is still good company. Sometimes he disappears for hours only to reappear with a fish for Yangyang to eat. He leans on the side of the boat in the mornings, greeting Yangyang with a, _good morning sleepy head._ At night Yangyang can feel him circle around the boat. It makes him feel safe, protected. He is not alone. 

Since leaving the island, it feels like a haze has been lifted off of Yangyang’s mind. His sight feels clearer, he can fully feel hunger again. 

The compass stopped working the second they pushed the boat off the sand, so Jaemin has been guiding them west. They’re going slow, too slow for Yangyang’s liking. He expected to have been there by now, but the fact that he has to row has set him back. Luckily Jaemin helps push the boat when he’s in a good mood. 

Yangyang wakes up one night with the boat moving off its own accord. Which normally wouldn’t be strange. The waves push the boat every evening. But this time it’s not the waves. 

Leaning over the side, Yangyang can see the telltale shimmer of Jaemin’s tail. Next thing he knows, Jaemin’s head is right in front of him. 

“Row,” he commands. 

Yangyang is dumbfounded. “What’s going on?” 

“If you know what’s good for you, row.” Jaemin grits his teeth before delving back underwater. The boat starts moving again a second later. 

Yangyang scrambles for the paddles, almost slamming his face into the wooden floor in his own haste. He can hear singing behind him, he doesn’t dare look. 

He rows until morning breaks. He rows until the sun hits his face again. He rows until Jaemin comes back up and tells him they’re far enough. 

“Far enough from what?” Yangyang asks, angry for being kept out of the loop, scared for the answer. 

Jaemin looks at him and realizes he can’t spin his way out of this with a sweet lie, so he settles on answering with the truth. 

“The others.” 

* * *

Give a sailor a drink and he will tell you about the problems he has at home with his wife. Give him another one, and he will tell you about his day. Give him a third and the promise of a fourth, and he will tell you what he knows about the secret to eternal life. 

Some claim it’s a spring so big it rises above the trees. Others take it literally and say it’s a key. There was one man—Doyoung was his name if Yangyang remembers correctly—who said it was a piece of meat that you had to eat raw. 

They all agree on the cardinal location. West. 

As far west as you can go, and then beyond that. Further than the horizon. Sail until you can’t sail anymore. You have already traded your life for a myth. What else do you have to lose? Sail until you drop off the earth, then you know you’ve sailed far enough. 

There is no known man that has made the crossover and returned alive. There is only a man that no one knows. A man whose initials are carved into the compass Yangyang carries in his right pocket.

Because no one returns to tell the tales, everything is based on guesses that are based on stories that are based on myths. Still, those myths have to be based off of something. 

There are many reasons men don’t make it back alive. The ocean makes some go mad, the ones with easily bendable wills. Others fall victim to the things that hide beneath the waves that don’t like being intruded on, especially not by crazed humans. 

Jaemin explains that besides everything there have been men whose will was strong enough and whose luck was great. Jaemin explains that those were the men that came close. Jaemin explains that those were the men who suffered the cruelest of deaths. 

When there is the promise of eternal life, of course there is a final defense line. 

A line that can sing the most beautiful notes human ears have ever heard. A line that can’t breach land but moves fast in water. A line with teeth that can turn as sharp as spikes, with nails that can claw out eyes with a single stroke. 

Jaemin explains that the final defense line is the mermaids with their tails whose scales reflect in the sunlight. 

* * *

This time it is Yangyang who is angry. He isn’t angry because Jaemin kept it from him, he isn’t angry that Jaemin is a filthy liar. He is angry because, 

“You’ve been pushing us into the wrong direction, haven’t you.” Yangyang tries to keep his voice even, his vocal cords level, but he can’t help the anger vibrating off of his words. 

Jaemin doesn’t say anything and that in itself is answer enough. 

_Good morning sleepy head._

“Lead the way,” Yangyang says, tone final. 

Jaemin opens his mouth to plead. If he had legs he would crawl into the boat and kneel down at Yangyang’s feet to beg him to turn around. To sail to where it’s safe. To choose to live. 

Yangyang’s grip on the paddles is making his hands turn white. He doesn’t look at Jaemin, can’t look at him. 

Is he a fool now? he wonders as he lights his last stick of confidence in his mind. He is clinging onto it again. Hope. That faithful damned four-letter word. 

Jaemin doesn’t ask if he is certain, just delves under with the same look on his face he wore when Yangyang first told him why he set out onto the waves. He steers the boat west. Yangyang rows. 

* * *

Night comes easy. She slips into the sky and anticipates. 

Yangyang looks at the sky filled with stars. That’s one thing he is going to miss about this place, the sky. Despite the warmth even at night, his veins have run cold. The water in them has turned to ice. 

Jaemin left him a while ago, told him it was better if he did this part on his own. 

Despite the quiet, Yangyang feels he is not alone. Something is lurking in the depths of the ocean, lying in wait. For something. For him. 

He lets his grip on the paddles go and lets the boat be pushed by the waves. 

His heart is beating in his throat. He wonders how many came this far. 

The moon helps him see where he is going but he still has to strain his eyes to see far. He is keeping them open for anything. Just like the night he anticipates. 

He feels fear, yes, but he wants to know, needs to know. For Kun. For himself. 

He’d like Kun to be here now, by his side. Facing this with him. But there are miles and miles of salt between them.

The singing is quiet, but clearly audible. Yangyang lets his hands drift back to the wooden grip of the paddles. He holds them, and waits. 

It comes closer slowly, like time is not an issue. And really, out here, you have all the time in the world. 

The notes hold the sound of melancholy. Yangyang can’t understand the words but there is no denying that it is beautiful. He can feel himself be drawn in. The haze that he felt on the island slowly seeps back into his brain. He slowly starts up his paddling. 

He wishes Kun could hear this, and Ten, and Yuta and Johnny and Jaehyun and their unborn child. The voices lure him in, deeper, and deeper, and deeper. Yangyang starts to paddle faster, and faster, and faster. 

There is no spot of land to paddle to, no big beanstalk sprouting from the ground, no well in the middle of the ocean from which you can hoist up a bucket. 

The singing draws closer and closer until Yangyang is engulfed in it. He is paddling right into the lion’s den and there is nothing he can do about it. 

Heads start to appear. Mouths with words coming out of them that contrasts the smiles as sweet as candy. Eyes are looking at him, following him, tracking him. They look lovely in the moonlight. Yangyang can see the movement under the water, the movement of their tails. 

One of the mermaids comes closer. He has long red hair, eyebrows that match the color, a slit going through one of them. 

His face draws closer, Yangyang wants to lean in, press his mouth to those beautiful lips. He averts his gaze, swats at the mermaid with one of his paddles. The mermaid catches it easily, rips the wooden stick out of its holster the next instant. His eyes have turned darker, going from brown to black. 

More mermaids set their nails into the wood of the boat. The singing is picking up. Getting louder, and louder, and louder. Yangyang wants to put his hands to his ears. He wants to scream to drown out the sound. He wants to come closer, see what it tastes like. 

He hears an ugly screech through the music. And slowly he singing changes, it isn’t lovely anymore. Their mouths are filled with razor blades and they all want a cut out of Yangyang’s skin. 

Yangyang rips the other paddle out of its holster. He is not going down like this. Not without a fight. He swings the paddle around, hits one mermaid on its head. The screeching spikes in volume. 

Something scratches his hand and almost takes off two fingers. Yangyang screams. He drops the paddle but can’t hear it hit the water. 

He closes in on himself. Begging for reality to come crashing down on him. He wants Kun here. He wants his brother. Needs him. 

He regrets not leaving with a proper goodbye, and maybe that hurt most of all. 

And then there is a voice he recognizes. His ears pick it up out of the ugly mess. It’s the voice he has been spending weeks listening to. A voice that comes with a hand carding through his hair, with bad jokes and a listening ear. A voice that belongs to a friend, maybe something more. 

Jaemin is there when Yangyang opens his eyes. The faded pink hair something that Yangyang can welcome. 

He is singing a song Yangyang knows well. It’s his favorite out of them all, must have asked Jaemin to repeat it a hundred times. 

Yangyang crawls over to him on his hands and knees. The screeching fades into the background, just like the danger, the terror. 

There is just Jaemin, and he is singing. His voice is like honey. Yangyang wants to taste it, feel it against his lips. Against his throat, against his skin. He leans forward. He is not alone. 

Jaemin’s eyes are kind. His hands are soft on Yangyang’s. He is not alone. 

Yangyang comes closer. Jaemin rises out of the water further. He is not alone. 

Yangyang kisses him first. 

When Jaemin kisses back, YangYang can feel the death behind it. His lips taste rotten, his breath is ash. The water is nothing but depth below him and he gets dragged into it, the freezing water hitting him head-on. 

Jaemin does not break the kiss, and neither does Yangyang, already addicted to the outline of Jaemin’s smirk against his mouth. 

The mermaids dive under with them. Leaving the boat where it sits, being carried away by the waves. 

Another man led to a watery grave. Another man’s fate sealed by the kiss of death. Another man who threw his life away for a treasure that doesn’t exist. 

* * *

Water and salt. Two things Jaemin is well acquainted with. Recently a third has been added. Something that borders on the brink of regret. Something that hints at pain not visible to the eye. 

Humans cry a lot. They cried when he brought them the compass with the KJ initials. They cried when Jaemin took off three of his own scales and gave it to a man with a number for a name. Telling him to give it to the sick brother, to let him eat it raw. They cried when Jaemin said it will let him live to the end of the year. 

Humans cry a lot, and maybe that is good, means at least someone will do it for him. 

He returns, once a year. Picking at his tail and handing over three emerald colored stones. There is a hint of purple in them that you can see when you move your head just right. 

The brother slowly regains his life while Jaemin slowly deflates of his own. He feels like he deserves it. 

The other mermaids have started noticing, catching on. They call him ugly, scratch at his skin with their claws, set their teeth into the open wounds on his tail that won’t heal. 

His tail is losing its color. The green that it was before has turned as faded as his hair. His hair which is starting to fall out. One strand at a time. 

Still, every year he waits at the docks to hand life to a man who he has come to know as Ten. He never lingers, not long anyways. Maybe he asks how Yangyang was like before he sailed away. And maybe he stays for another anecdote or two. 

He learns that Yuta has given birth to a healthy baby. When he meets her she reminds him so much of Renjun, one of his friends that has started to worry for him. Jeno has been trying to make him stop coming here. But he can’t quit. His conscious won’t let him. It’s the least he can do. 

He meets Johnny and Jaehyun, proud dads showing off their child once Ten tells them Jaemin will do them no harm. He makes it a point to ask after the baby every year he comes to visit, and doesn’t have to fake his pleasure when he learns he’s doing well. 

The only person he never gets to put a face to is Kun. Jaemin can’t blame him, if he was Kun he wouldn’t want to see him either. 

Every year he comes because it is the least he can do. And every year Ten stands waiting with an update on everyone, smiling. 

His smile dampens when Jaemin is late one year. The day passes and there is no sign of him. Ten wonders if he got the dates wrong. Or if maybe Jaemin forgot. He returns the next morning, and the day after that. He camps out by the docks, desperate to see that head which used to have faded pink hair. 

Jaemin never shows up. In his place comes a boy with an ugly sneer who calls himself Jeno. He asks for a compass clad in gold, he’d like to bury it with Jaemin’s body, says his friend never shut up about it and neither about the human who it was given to. 

Ten tries to apologize, but it’s in vain. 

Kun's health plummets and he passes away later that spring in his own home, Ten’s arms around him holding him tight. His last words are spoken to baby Yangyang, saying that he is going to pay the original one a visit.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like i can coin the ship name so behold: yangx2min 
> 
> it's awful(ly spooky) 
> 
> [ twitter ](http://twitter.com/lertsektweets)|[ curiosity killed the cat ](https://curiouscat.me/)


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